#365songs (92 / 365)

Another "respect more than enjoy" band for me, Frog Eyes nonetheless has some songs that I think are absolutely transcendent, "Bushels" foremost among them. Carey Mercer's voice has always been the most out-there part of Frog Eyes, and this song is a fine showcase for everything he could do with it (maybe not quite so much anymore) — like many of my #365songs I have no idea what he's singing about but he sings like he fucking means it. The repeated six-note descending piano line really lends the deranged storytelling some grandeur, and then there are a series of moments that feel like a straightforward payoff for all the wordiness of the first half.

The first ones let the instrumentation fall back for some more straightforward lines from Mercer: London, you're cold, but the wheat's got to last. When am I ever going to feel the sting of your sun? I was a singer and I sang in your home. After all the tumult and opaque verbosity about commerce and pulling the flies off of their wings and motorcades, those simpler lines fucking hit! And when the song picks back up into a yelpy, carnivalesque outro, I'm like: You know what? Go off, Carey, you earned it.